


calling your name in the midnight hour

by MiraclesInApril



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, slight dub con, unhealthy relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-05 18:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraclesInApril/pseuds/MiraclesInApril
Summary: It's love. It wouldn't hurt so much if it wasn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags.

It’s two a.m. when Jongin comes home but Chanyeol already knows how it’s going to go. He doesn’t even pretend to be asleep when he slides in behind him, patting him down like security at the hundreds of airports they pass through. He smells of booze and bitterness and Chanyeol knows how the morning will go too.

His fingers pause at the waistband of Chanyeol’s sleep shorts, nails digging into the material as his fingers curl around it, like he’s trying to tear through it.

“How many times,” he breathes in a vague area next to Chanyeol’s ear, “do I have to tell you, hyung?” his words drip, alcohol and venom, “Are you as stupid as you look?” he pushes the offensive material lower and Chanyeol stays still, exhaustion holding him more intimately than Jongin will tonight.

“Nothing to say, hyung?” he whispers, some semblance of care in his tone. Chanyeol remains silent, knowing not to trust it. There is nothing he can say that will soften Jongin up, not when he’s like this.

So he lets Jongin push his thigh forward over the other, says nothing as he hears the clank of his belt, silent still as Jongin enters him unceremoniously and begins to thrust. Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut, static in the darkness behind his lids as Jongin bruises his thigh and grunts in his ear.

The bed squeaks, each spring sounding in sympathy for Chanyeol’s pain. Jongin isn’t acquainted with gentleness, not when he is sober and certainly not inebriated. His hips are lazy but each delivery is angry, seething and seeking to punish, not give pleasure. Chanyeol just holds on through it, waiting for that moment, that slight twist that’ll take him to the place Jongin is at, for the little spark that makes it worth it.

The teeth sinking in is a surprise. Jongin doesn’t go out of his way to make it painful when he’s got alcohol sloshing in his veins. His sloppiness does it well enough for him. The bites and scratches and hits and chokes and everything else Jongin loves to inflict on Chanyeol come when he is lucid, when he knows just how much he wants to hurt Chanyeol.

“I told you hyung,” he speaks low and slowly, the honorific every much a slur dropping from his lips, “I want you naked and pretty since you want to be my slut. Nay-ked. Do you understand?”

Chanyeol grips the cotton, head buried in the pillow so Jongin won’t hear his breathing snag. When he takes too long to respond, Jongin’s teeth dig in, sharper like he wants to lift Chanyeol’s flesh from his shoulder and it’s double the punishment because he’ll have to make sure no one sees it in the morning. Growing agitated, Jongin repeats the question, louder this time and there is no doubt it carries beyond their walls. Chanyeol hopes no one will ask about that either.

“Yes Jongin,” he lifts his head, taking the fresh air in deep, “I’m sorry.”

His words fall on indifference deafened ears. As if he had not spoken, the jagged thrusting continues, teeth claiming the patch on his right shoulder. If he’s lucky tomorrow, no one will have any ideas about hugging or putting their arms around him. Jongin’s hips begin to stutter, the force waning, the pace slugging.

Chanyeol hears a snore.

He turns to sit up, wincing as he feels the effect of Jongin already presenting itself in his shoulder. His shorts glue his lower thighs together so he kicks them off altogether. Then he turns to Jongin, fumbling with his tight jeans, grappling with his shirt until he’s nude like Chanyeol.

As Chanyeol throws their clothes to the floor, the drunken boy turns over, patting the space next to him until he meets Chanyeol’s thigh and snuggles closer. Chanyeol sighs, lying back down. He pulls Jongin onto his arm, head nestling on his unabused shoulder. Jongin snuggles closer, face tucked into Chanyeol’s crook, arm and leg thrown haphazardly over his hip and waist.

He presses a brief kiss to Jongin’s temple and tries to suppress the tears already escaping to his temple.

 

*

 

In the morning Jongin takes out his frustration at having been caught on Chanyeol. Kyungmin, their manager, doesn’t buy his excuse of being late in the practise room with his best friend, recalling that Taemin is on tour, and chews off Jongin’s hungover ear for it. His foul mood consequently turning fouler, he pins Chanyeol to the counter when Kyungmin leaves, hand at his crotch more bruising than pleasant, biting the same tormented skin of Chanyeol’s shoulder, because he can— while Minseok pretends there's nothing but air in their general direction and Baekhyun gives Chanyeol a pitying look.

Chanyeol isn't helpless, regardless of what everyone thinks these days. Regardless that Jongin believes it too. He _can_ stop Jongin. Put an end to it without lifting much of a finger.

And that's why he doesn't. Whatever Jongin wants to believe, there's only one way he could ever dent Chanyeol. He's not there yet and as long as Jongin is still fighting, Chanyeol won't abandon hope.

There's always that nagging thought, too, that this is all his fault.

Chanyeol hadn't met Jongin a monster, or whatever husk of it he imitates these days. He was the timid boy that barely spoke to anyone outside his circle, fiercely competitive and unapproachable on evaluation days, wearing his dance visage like a blade studded armour, more intimate with the mirrors and sweat drenched clothes than most people. There was sweetness too. Eyes that bent your will to his. Soft mouth equipped with tender smiles. Hearty laugh that made awe resonate in people just as much as his elegance did during dance. His amber heart was loud when he was quiet, the warm glow of it ensconcing him no matter where he was or what he was doing.

He was young and sweet, a little idiotic and sincere. There was Kai and Jongin before the stages and fans, before the crippling pressure and unrelenting lenses.

And Chanyeol fell.

It's hard to see the raw truth of what Jongin has become when the rose in Chanyeol’s irises makes what Jongin was so fresh in his mind. What Jongin still is— with every unguarded glimpse of him Chanyeol gets from time to time.

It's Chanyeol’s fault, really.

 

*

 

Chanyeol is obsolete to Jongin for the rest of the day. He favours Sehun's lap and Kyungsoo's shoulder, wrapped up in Jongdae when he can be, whining to Junmyeon and beaming at Baekhyun. Chanyeol swallows the lump in his throat, each quick blink an attempt to erase the images, hold back the dam. He laughs at everything and nothing, earning a swat from Sehun who cites his creepy grin.

Baekhyun indulges him as he often does and it makes putting the sting behind him is easier. Sehun and Baekhyun find him backstage later, pushing a sandwich into his hand and taking either side of him on the couch, not inquiring much about his wince when Sehun leans too hard on his shoulder. He closes his eyes when Jongin enters, catching a glimpse of his hand intertwined with Kyungsoo's before his lashes meet and he feigns a nap before it’s his turn for dolling up.

 

That night he arrives at their room later than Jongin, camping in Sehun and Junmyeon’s as long as he could.

Jongin doesn't look up from his phone until Chanyeol has shed his clothes and is climbing to the space next to him. Perhaps Jongin will let them sleep in peace tonight. Coupled with his hangover and insufficient sleep, perhaps—

Jongin has rolled over on top of him before he can settle down properly. He straddles Chanyeol’s waist, humping his bare stomach, face hanging close over his.

"You have a problem behaving, don't you hyung?" he sneers and Chanyeol wishes he didn't find every detail of his face so beautiful. "Don't you love me?" he softens and Chanyeol doesn't have any notions of Jongin being kinder but he reaches to cup Jongin's cheek anyway.

"I do."

"You do what?" his erection rubbing on Chanyeol makes Chanyeol's cock respond, stimulated by Jongin's chest picking up pace even if he sounds composed.

"Love you."

Jongin stills, like he didn't expect the answer, like he forgot the question and Chanyeol's admission is random, surprising. His reaction each time is the only surprising thing. Chanyeol never denies it when he asks. Offers it in the quiet hours Jongin is tired of trying to hate him, pressed dear to Chanyeol’s chest. It's always there in how Chanyeol looks at Jongin and he knows it only pisses him off more. Whether Jongin wants it or not, the answer is never vague.

"Then why did you ignore me all day?" he shifts lower, the fabric of his jeans chafing Chanyeol's bare crotch. "Is ignoring the one you love right?" he tilts his head, voice dripping innocence, eyes wicked with mock, lips curved.

The vines in Chanyeol's rib cage wrap around his lungs. There are so many ways to die and every word that comes from Jongin's mouth is a small taste.

"Is your attention, hyung," his hand goes from pressing down Chanyeol's shoulder to somewhere behind him— Chanyeol promptly finds out is his cock as slender fingers wrap around it, "not all for me?"

Jongin is sent a margin higher as Chanyeol bows, pleasure stringing his core tight and further rendering him helpless to Jongin. He fists Chanyeol's cockhead, barely touching a centimetre lower and Chanyeol understands Jongin intends this night to be a battlefield of pleas, an interrogation by barb tipped syllables wrenching answers from tender parts of him.

"Still ignoring me?" a noose becomes out of gentle fingers, leaving the barest leeway for breathing or reply. More marks Chanyeol will have to disguise. His nails scratch along Chanyeol's neck, baiting thin angry trails that border blood, manoeuvring lethargically to Chanyeol’s shoulder, to the plane of his chest.

"No." Chanyeol reaches for his cock, needing badly to release some of the tension threatening to explode if Jongin keeps trying to force a finger between his slit. His wrist is immediately arrested, fire flaring in Jongin's eyes.

"Naughty hyung, bad hyung," he tuts, shaking his head, strands of his hair tickling Chanyeol's forehead, "so bad." his lips brush Chanyeol's, a brief reward for his defiance before he is shaking his head again, "Do you want a lesson, hyung? What will teach you to behave for me?" he returns to Chanyeol's neck, cutting off his air, the glint in his eyes brighter with each choke that comes from Chanyeol's mouth, each increment of the bulging of his eyes. He keeps Chanyeol’s throat in a vise, keeps his thumb tender on Chanyeol's cock, soaking in the control.

"Prove you love me, hyung. Give me all your attention." He whispers against Chanyeol's gaping mouth, licking along his upper lip and setting the tension in Chanyeol's core on fire.

On another day he would let his body be Jongin's playground, as always. But the images he tried to purge from his memory buzz at his conscious; clasped hands, a sly look accompanying a giggle, a chaste kiss for everyone besides him, a scowl that scorches the breath in his lungs. And suddenly he aches for affection, aches for tender, aches for a yielding Jongin, putty in his arms.

So he flips them over and doesn't surrender to Jongin's attempts to regain power. He claims Jongin's mouth, flinching as he is met with teeth catching his lips. He lets him, lets Jongin bite, frustration in the clench, until it laxes and Jongin's mouth is pliant for his kinder kiss.

"You don't scare me, Jongin." Chanyeol says against Jongin's neck, palm splayed on Jongin's heart, another stroking Jongin’s cock as he thrusts in slow and steady. He gave in when Jongin turned on his side, a small truce. But the shudder in Jongin's chest tells Chanyeol it's more like forfeit, more like despair. "I love you now. I love you when you realize it doesn't have to be like this, too." There's a hitch under his palm in time with his thrusts and Chanyeol kisses Jongin's neck, caresses the tears off his cheeks, "I love you." he says one more time.

He takes Jongin slipping his fingers in the spaces between his as _I love you too._

 

*

 

The mic keeps coming back to him and Chanyeol latches on to the distraction, allows himself to be occupied with the task at hand, however superficially. The lifelessness of the boy next to him is patent. It's beyond camera shy or tired, a bone deep misery that emanates from him like sound waves.

Their slow fucks always seem to leave him in a state of unshakable desolation, crying long after he spasms in Chanyeol's arms, long after Chanyeol keeps him there, kissing his neck and drying his tears. The melancholy varnishes his being for days after and it's why Chanyeol thinks twice before taking the reins from Jongin and _loving_ him instead of fucking.

Times like this Chanyeol wonders if he should regret his confession— the thing that catalyzed the head dive of their relationship into an agonizing game of push and pull but mostly shove.

Jongin was just _so_ receptive to him, every bit as eager to spend time with him as Chanyeol was, telling him that he misses him when he's not around, bringing Chanyeol gifts and packed lunch from his mom when he went home on holidays or rare days after practise, flirtatious and radiant when they’re together. He was sure that he wasn't misreading the signs. That Jongin felt for him the way he felt about him.

He had not considered Jongin wouldn't have acknowledged his feelings or what it all meant. How it changed everything, how it made them different.

 _I like you, Jongin. I like you like couples do._ He'd made himself clear so Jongin would not be mistaken like the last time he tried to tell him and maybe on a day like today, he'd take it back for the way the confession shattered and ignited something in Jongin, like exaltation and heartbreak in one. For the way fear immediately takes up Jongin's irises when he looks a second too long at Chanyeol outside the comfort of their dorms, for the way he catches Jongin eyeing opposite sex couples with a blend of curiosity and longing, for the way that fear makes him grieve quietly in Chanyeol's arms every time he feels the scope of Chanyeol's love.

Chanyeol understands Jongin, even if Jongin doesn't understand himself. He can Atlas both of their fears as long as there is always hope that the sky of afflictions will crumble away, once Jongin realizes it's okay to let go, to let love, even in fear. Chanyeol can wait, as long as it takes. And perhaps he's a little selfish in his selflessness. The way he sees it, it's better to be broken in love than be alone and lovelorn.

Jongin loves him, Chanyeol knows he does. He wouldn't feel so tortured about the feelings he perceives as wrong if he didn't. Chanyeol loves him enough, wants him enough to wait for the day Jongin's shackles will fall away, when he can love Chanyeol back without a shadow of fear or doubt.

As long as Jongin comes back to him every night, as long as Jongin wants to kiss him, bloody his mouth or let it be slow, as long as Jongin _wants him,_ however confused he goes about keeping him, Chanyeol won’t give up. Jongin can fight his demons and Chanyeol will always be his soft place to fall.

 


	2. melting point

There’s a voice to the night, an echo to his steps. They take turns accusing him. _Idiot idiot idiot._ Most nights he would try to silence it, play his music too loud or name every object in his field of vision to keep his brain occupied with nothing. He can’t tonight. He deserves every beration, from himself and from every ounce of karma the universe throws at him.

He pulls the strings of his hoodie tighter. It’s not his hoodie though. Just his favourite one that he inherited from Chanyeol through stubborn refusal to leave it alone. Not that Chanyeol ever stopped him or told him no.

His teeth clatter. It’s warm, too warm on this July night. Somehow he can’t stay warm lately. Neither endotherm nor ectotherm, an alien being that oozes cold from his marrow, moves like slush through his veins. Makes him feel drunk. Heavy, uncoordinated.

“Let me in.”

His key card sits at his dorm. He didn’t plan to come here tonight. Filming ended late. By the end of it, he just wanted to go home to his bed, and to whatever portion of dinner Kyungsoo kept in the fridge for him.

And then the empty room, the empty bed flashed neon in his mind.

Adam sticks to his feet the minute he enters. With a laugh, he picks up the Maltese and carries him along to the couch where his best friend is splayed. Taemin sits up when he sees Jongin and Jongin collapses in the space made for him.

“Jongin-ah,”

A little of the tension in his shoulders and chest vaporizes, as Taemin runs his fingers through his hair. The grimness clinging to him thaws, fades into his best friend’s touch, into the couch, away and out of him. Taemin fixates on his TV screen but Jongin knows he’s only pretending to take interest in it for his sake.

Sometimes Jongin thinks he and Taemin are the same people, severed parts of a soul moulding two bodies. For every difference, they share a pair similarities. Until essentially being with Taemin, around Taemin, feels like being alone. Not lonely, just alone and serene.

Lately the simplicity of it frustrates him. His body melts into Taemin’s touch. He soaks up his affection, the warmth of it a brief tingle in the coldness inside him. He sees love in Taemin’s eyes and he is sure a reflection shines in his own. Being with and around Taemin is effortless. Accepting sentiment or affection from him is effortless too, the way it is with everyone else.

Why can’t _he_ be Taemin? Or everyone? Or anyone else?  

Instead he is quicksilver and expands in Jongin. From the moment they met up to now, still expanding, still thwarting him off axis as if he is nothing but a weak pivoted seesaw, swaying him either way with the gust of his emotions.

Hours of empty noise from the tv later, when Adam and Eve lie cuddled at Taemin’s feet and Taemin is having a hard time holding up his head, Jongin rises from his lap and steers him to lie down. He is limpid when he tells Jongin _talk to him_. His smile gives way to sleep, sinking further into the cavernous leather as if leaving space to keep options open for him. Jongin stretches the throw folded over the back of the couch over his best friend and leaves him with an imprint of his lips on the apple of his cheek.

 

*

 

The dark room is no discovery but the untouched state of it feels new. Everything remains the way he left it. Paper bag abandoned behind the door, bathroom door ajar as well as the wardrobe that is half bare, heap of clothing precariously hanging off the the other side of it, like the person clearing it out left in a rush.

Details jump out at him, mostly of the things that are missing; the guitar case, the collection of comics by the bed foot, the juniper berry and sandalwood cologne that doesn’t belong to him, the knickknacks that splashed colour to the sombre toned room, the pile of language books.  

These are things he never took note of before. They were periphery, on the blurry fringe of his conscious and only filled the empty space of the otherwise whole scene. The crux of the scene gapes and Jongin’s focus is left to toil with the remains.

 

The covers stay spitefully cold.

The exceptional times that Chanyeol attempted to give him the cold shoulder, he slept in the far corner of the bed, next to wall even though it makes him feel suffocated. He thrashes against it on restless nights, struggling with it as if it’s a person holding him hostage. After their fighting and war making love, Jongin ends up with his back to the wall and Chanyeol’s limbs captive in his.

Despite Jongin being the architect of the rift between them when Chanyeol chooses his fears over him, he spends the night hoping Chanyeol will shift in his sleep and blanket himself across Jongin. Maybe Chanyeol doesn’t sleep a wink either because for all his thrashing and ending strewn over Jongin most nights, on these nights he keeps vigil with the wall.

The cold slumbering in the gap between them then is no match for the savage one sheathing Jongin now. It is the raw breath of the coldest, darkest hell. One in which Chanyeol has given up. Where the fortress Chanyeol took refuge in from Jongin’s siege has turned to rubble.

_I like you, Jongin. I like you like couples do._

It was the first night Jongin cried himself to sleep. He was high strung and barely lucid those days. Kai, do this. Kai, you need to do that. Kai, get through the performance, Kai so help me god if you do that again. _Kai, Kai, Kai._

Then there was Chanyeol who smiled through it all, with his imperfections like the rest, the nagging he got and million directions he was given. Always there with his smile that withstood it all like fucking Everest, making Jongin feel like it would be fine. They’d get through it, just smile and laugh and don’t forget how to do either. With Chanyeol around it wasn’t hard to keep them within grasp. He was the port when life was rattling around Jongin, galing into him mercilessly.

Then he told Jongin he liked him like _that_ and became the storm.

Because how could they. _How could they?_ And was it worth it?

Of course Jongin had known. Born introspective, there was little inside of himself he wasn’t aware of. Somehow Chanyeol wasn’t that hard to discern either, his heart was on his sleeve for Jongin to steal. But the minute Chanyeol had said it aloud, it was like everyone knew too. The building was empty save for security and cleaning staff— Jongin checked— and there was not a single person to overhear them within the floor. Still, knowing eyes followed him, at the dorms, behind cameras and even those of their newly amassed fanbase that held a few ticking bombs that would obliterate his life to bits, given the chance.

Chanyeol had given the chance when he opened his mouth.

Jongin’s lips crescent in the dark now. _I like you, Jongin._

_I need a break, Jongin._

His lips slope. The fleeting warmth from the memory of Chanyeol’s confession is taken with a wind of ice. _I need a break._ These are the words that have been scratching at his mind. Chipping away his sanity.

He has had a total of five hours’ sleep since he first heard those words. Between the cold and croon of unkind memory, he can’t bear one more night of this.

 

Taemin will answer and let him in again, Jongin is certain. And he’ll take care of him and help him forget in any way he needs, Jongin is certain. But redressed and ready to head out, his hand refuses to connect with the knob.

In the window of his conscious, that pebble stone voice taps. _Find him, find him, find him._ It hisses at him that the longer they’re apart, the fainter he will become to Chanyeol and if he leaves it one more night, if he steps past the threshold, whatever connection he had with Chanyeol will snap for good. Chanyeol will never come back to him.

There were times he wished Chanyeol would walk away. Amidst Jongin putting the seventh bruise down his thigh or teeth-form gouges between his shoulder blades or spitting words that wither flowers at him, he wished Chanyeol would get up and save himself.

He would be safe and the monster that crawls out of Jongin around Chanyeol would finally be put down.

Chanyeol has gone and done just that and Jongin’s only wish now is to take it back.

 

Sleep deprivation bends time. It feels like an hour has passed, nursing his quandary at the front door, when he pushes a door down the corridor open.

Snug between Sehun and Junmyeon, Chanyeol rises. The light behind Jongin illuminates the groggy confusion on his face and the following resignation.

The two other heads shift and lift too but Jongin can’t catch a glimpse of their faces. Chanyeol is already out of bed and heading towards him.

A malign remark suspends in his throat, his learned reflex nudging it forth. Emotions weigh it down, shoving it to the pit of his stomach where all his other misery roils. Amidst his dilemma Chanyeol reaches him. Before Jongin can open his mouth, he is locked in an embrace.

The millions of things that were waiting to gush out of him get swallowed in a tide of warmth, in a surge of Chanyeol. He lets himself get absorbed, drowned. It’s the peace he has been seeking in the weeks Chanyeol stepped away and immediately his body grows heavy, like it’s safe to let go now, safe to let fall.

 

*

 

“I wasn’t told ‘I need a break’ means the same thing as ‘I’m finding myself someone else...two in fact’.” Jongin says evenly, rocking his hips over Chanyeol’s as the latter stirs.

Chanyeol greets him with a moan, velvet heavy, tracing down Jongin’s spine. Jongin forgoes his intentions for a moment and closes his eyes to keep rocking and feel the excitement that had been dead. Chanyeol is hard on him, erection pressing into him, hands finding grooves of his bare hips.

 _Tighter,_  Jongin wants to say, _hold me tighter_. Chanyeol keeps his grip soft, like Jongin is brittle and if he squeezes too hard, Jongin will shatter.

“I didn’t take you one for leaving one cock for another.”

Chanyeol blinks beady at him, his grip remains delicate. Jongin expects the silence. He knows how to push Chanyeol’s buttons but not the detonation one. It’s always sighs and resignation and turning the cheek. But now there is no sign of him registering Jongin’s comment, as if his words slide off him like water lilies caught in rapids.  

He tries one more time. “Answer me, hyung.” he grinds his hips harsh, unpleasantly so.

Chanyeol lies still, a deflated pincushion, all the pins he internalized, all the stuffing spilling out. The notion makes a giggle sound from Jongin’s mouth. Then his stomach upheaves, battering shame turning his muscles to cinder as he collapses to the side.

With a greatness that dizzies him, it hits him how far he has pushed. How hard. How thorough. Chanyeol deflects his bullets. He wears fatigued faces. He looks saintly in the face of Jongin’s slights, as if he has some revelation about them that Jongin is not yet privy to. What he never looks is lifeless, unresponsive. Jongin rolls to the other side, away, farthest. Hopes that any distance now can unhurt, unbreak.

A mangled sound from Jongin’s mouth breaks the silence as Chanyeol touches his arm. Several others follow, convulsions breaking out of his throat. Still, Chanyeol doesn’t move away or leave.

He turns Jongin from the wall and pushes him to his chest instead. And then Jongin breaks into another million pieces because this is Chanyeol. This is how he is with him. Tender and loving and crushing Jongin with the force of it, negating his doubts and reservations.

He cries and feels tremors, its source indiscernible as Chanyeol’s tears streak too, down Jongin’s neck, over his collarbone. When Chanyeol’s lips slot over his, they’re dry and taste of salt. He kisses Jongin in a way that makes him forget the salt and sore heart. He pries into Jongin’s mouth, kissing him hot and unrelenting, gripping him hard by the shoulder. Jongin’s blood sings, _yes, yes,_ welcoming the force. All too soon it’s gone, Chanyeol bends gentle. He kisses him chaste, kisses him petal soft and it aches like paper cuts.

Then before he knows it Chanyeol’s hand is wrapped around his cock and Jongin feels dizzy again.

“Shh,” Chanyeol murmurs on his lips and Jongin realizes he’s crying again. “You’re not really jealous.” Chanyeol says, palming the underside of Jongin’s cock, smearing precum along. “Did something happen?”

Jongin stares into those earnest eyes, sincere with him no matter how many times he stared back at them with nothing but scorn. He flushes hot, in shame, in arousal as Chanyeol works his wrist slowly.

He has spit out empty foulness he never meant and held back simple honesty he should have never withheld and perhaps the frost that had taken his heart long ago begins to dissolve as he says, truthfully, “I miss you.”

Jongin more feels Chanyeol’s double take than sees it.

Chanyeol says nothing. Jongin’s words oscillate between them.

Soon Jongin doesn’t have to think about how the silence stings as Chanyeol strokes faster and ducks his head to grate teeth over a dim rose nipple. Jongin doesn’t think at all as Chanyeol lets him convulse in pleasure in his arms, letting out the most sincere sigh of Chanyeol’s name he has in years.

“I really meant what I said, Jongin.” Chanyeol says with a single effective wipe of their sheets over Jongin’s mess on his stomach.

Jongin stares blank, heavy limbed and content to stay where and as he is.

“I can’t— I need a break.”

For how long, he wants to ask. When will you come back. Do you still love me.

Jongin nods.

“Now?”

“In a bit.”

Jongin’s chest kicks. The way Chanyeol hugs him to his heart and hooks a leg over his hip makes it feel like one of their long naps on those rare free days before their debut, when Chanyeol would invite him out and he’d grumble about being tired and Chanyeol would agree to nap for a little while, only they’d end up sleeping the day away.

But he hears movement down the hall, clatter in the kitchen. They both have work soon, too.

When Chanyeol leaves, every thread of Jongin’s existence bellows at him to catch Chanyeol’s hand and pull him back. Make him stay, bodily, if it comes to that. Let the apologies and _hyung you make my heart fucking race_ tumble out of his mouth. _Hyung I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t go._

It takes every ounce of strength he has to let Chanyeol be, to let him go, feeling Chanyeol’s lips linger on his knuckles before he untwines their fingers.  

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought this was the end before i realized there's more i want to write, mainly because unhappy endings aren't my thing and this is too open? i think there might be one more part to this, maybe two. anyway i hope you enjoyed it despite the angst and don't worry, we'll come to understand jongin and their history better soon. please let me know if there is anything else you're curious about ^.^;
> 
> thanks for reading~ [twitter](https://twitter.com/miraclesnapril) // [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/miraclesnapril)

**Author's Note:**

> hi~ i hope you liked this small something? it was supposed to be 500w-ish or a drabble but. i really liked writing it and idk if i should leave it here or continue? do you guys want a part 2? let me know. thanks for reading! 
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/miraclesnapril) or [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/miraclesnapril) ♡
> 
> *title taken from the song 'here with me' - susie suh x robot koch.


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